


Hear You Me

by Alyss_Liebert



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Catharsis, Childhood Trauma, Fluff and Angst, Guardian Angel AU, Hunter X Hunter Big Bang, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, hxhbb19, let's make sure Kurapika takes care of Leorio this time, minor smut, probably not what you're expecting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 04:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19433599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyss_Liebert/pseuds/Alyss_Liebert
Summary: Death is always compared to the soul and the body’s "eternal rest". Nothing could be further from the truth.Guardian angels are former human beings transfigured into spirit guides, committed to the protection of another human being until their time of death. The kind of person who’s chosen for these spirits and how much time they have to stay with them are directly related to how they behaved when they lived, in turn, in the material world.All of this in order for spirits to obtain a place in the Garden of Eden.Become a spirit guide, Kurapika is called upon to supervise Leorio Paladiknight, a young man of a low-income household coming from York Shin’s suburb. Unlucky, hothead and, moreover, atheist.Angels can’t reveal themselves to their partners, for any reason; not even in their dreams. However, they must be capable of giving them faith and saving them from potential damnation.No one knows exactly the destiny of a rejected angel or a totally corrupted human.For the first time, Kurapika will have to fight for someone to trust him; a pretty hard task for him, who’s never learned in his whole previous life how to rely on someone, how to hope, how to love.





	Hear You Me

**Author's Note:**

> *sighs*  
> I really wanted to post the entire story, but unfortunately many unexpected events and other very important deadlines happened: writing the thesis for my bachelor's degree, for example.  
> It's been an extremely exhausting period; I won't hide I still have to recover from it. And I'm so sorry to my artists I couldn't complete the ff! I didn't even have time to check it properly, and it saddens me a lot.  
> I promise I'll post the second and last chapter; I don't know when ('cause now I admit I'm more into other fandoms), but I'll surely do it. After all, I enjoyed participating to this event, and I thank all the mods for creating it.  
> Hope you like this first chapter! Please, let me know.

The dry noise of Leorio's forehead that hits by mistake the edge of his nightstand beside the bed, and his following muffled curse, echo in his room shrouded in darkness. The dim light that penetrates the slits of the slightly crooked and rusty shades begins to illuminate the furniture and all the scattered objects, outlining their shadows.

Leorio writhes in pain, vigorously rubbing his forehead and emitting uncontrolled moans from his mouth that shapes a suffering grimace. He kicks off the already wrinkled and half-thrown sheets on the right side of the mattress.

"Fuck it..." he rails before turning his head to the digital clock placed over the same  _ thing _ that was about to cause him a concussion.

He winces. He immediately palpates the surface to find his glasses. He wears them and moves his face closer to the marked time, hoping he hasn’t seen it well. It's 7.40 am.

"Yes, you're late" a voice close to him confirms, coming from the neighbouring wall.

" _ Oh shit, I'm late _ !" Leorio bursts out almost simultaneously.

"For the tenth time" the voice adds.

"For the tenth time!" he repeats upset, sitting up and trying to shake off the blanket. He ends up enveloping it around himself, and falls to the ground in an attempt to stand up.

"For God’s sake!" he complains, standing up with a leap and running his hands through his hair, "I haven't set the alarm for the umpteenth time!"

"Because you’re stupid," the figure to his side says. His shoulders lean against the wall and his arms are folded. He has the appearance of a young teenager; he has blond hair, a rather edgy look, and he wears a particular ultramarine blue robe, tribal style, with gold-coloured patterns, and it’s covered at the top with a sort of tabard.

Leorio moves towards the window, lifting the shades until his room is completely enlightened. Everything becomes clearer, including the disorder that reigns supreme and how he looks like: he’s wearing only a pair of boxers, his dark hair is so dishevelled that it seems a firecracker exploded on his head. There are two weird bags under his eyes.

"Where did I put the fucking uniform?" he wonders, heading to the pile of crumpled and upside-down clothes piled up in his writing desk.

Before reaching them, he meets the other boy halfway, who has meanwhile moved to the centre of the room.

He passes through him.

The young blond man lets out an annoyed expression. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this feeling," he mutters to himself.

Immediately afterwards, he sees a visibly dirty tank top and a pair of polka-dot underwear coming his way, that pass through him too. Leorio is rummaging through those clothes with the grace of a beast that digs into the ground with its claws, throwing behind him everything that he doesn't care about.

Found his uniform of a pale blue, complete with a tag with his full name and the ID photo attached to one side, he wears it in less than ten seconds while jumping around the room, risking to rip it up.

Then he dives right into the kitchen. The mysterious boy follows him. He opens the refrigerator, noticing the only four things left inside: a few slices of ham, a chocolate bar, sardines, two eggs and milk that has expired for two weeks.

"Oh, crap..." he says while grabbing the chocolate and the ham, "I have to go shopping with the dough I have left."

"You’ll forget it and you’ll end up spending the money on football bets" the boy with the blue cloak says, settling himself in a chair farther from the table.

Then he observes as Leorio voraciously bites the bar and a slice of ham together, chewing them with his mouth open and swallowing them quickly with the help of a bottle of water. He turns up his nose.

"Disgusting".

Leorio hears his cell phone vibrate on the surface of the desk where he plugged it in the night before.

"Pie _ fw _ o!" he bursts out his friend's name with his mouth still full. Without cleaning the table, he rushes back to his room to visualise the message. As he supposed: it's him.

_ "Hey Leo, I'm outside your place. Are you ready?" _

It's 7.50. Shit.

_ "Yeah, don’t worry. Let me put on my shoes and I’ll come down " _ , he replies. Then he looks at the mirror: his shirt is misbuttoned and he hasn't even shaved.

Behind him, the  _ invisible boy _ causes the toothbrush to shake up slightly in its case with a slight movement of his index, and Leorio remembers he has to brush his teeth to be, at least, sure of having a pleasant breath.

Even the toothpaste is finished and, under the inquisitorial gaze of the blond boy, he gargles with water and then uses the latter to fix his hair.

"There is nothing in this house!" he bursts out, waving his hands in the air.

"That’s because you don’t move your ass and go to the supermarket," his  _ supervisor _ replies.

After deciding to leave the regrowth because "beard is fashionable", he wears his shoes without lacing them, grabs his personal briefcase and rushes into the narrow hall where there’s the entrance door, followed by his detached spectator.

Leorio rushes out.

The other boy folds his arms again. "He will notice he has forgotten his jacket in three, two, one ..."

" _ The fucking jacket _ !" Leorio screams after three seconds, getting back and removing the garment from the coat rack.

In the narrow street of the apartment complex where he lives - a building with gaunt plaster and rusty balcony railings - his friend is waiting for him in his straw yellow car.

It's already eight o'clock.

Leorio joins him breathlessly, opening the car door and gracelessly throwing himself on the seat next to the driving one.

"Hey, buddy," Pietro calls him, curving his lips in a timorous smile, "Today they’ll rip us off."

"Go... just go," Leorio replies between a gasp and another, after settling down.

Meanwhile, outside the car, the other young man, who has begun to float, is face to face with another equally rarefied  _ creature  _ who’s wearing the same type of dress, but red. However, he looks much younger, and two white wings of very small dimensions show up behind his back; above his head sways a brilliant halo.

"Good morning, Kurapika!" he greets him with a smile.

A smile that the other boy reciprocates, but more restrained. "Good morning, Pairo."

The two impalpable and invisible presences - since no one has yet gone mad by seeing two beings with human features that fly - follow the two boys’ car that makes its way through the narrow and grimy streets of that city’s outskirts.

A general degradation stands out, personified by the homeless who wander the sidewalks with crumpled clothes, drunk with yet another bottle in their hands, who shout or bother some bystander; overflowing garbage cans, graffiti on the walls and much more.

Alongside each of these people with dull, hopeless faces there are abstract creatures like Kurapika and Pairo; some of them hover along with others like them to escape the negativity of their partners, others sit on the edges of the sidewalk with disconsolate faces, others rail in vain against their human partners as if to vent their frustration.

Many of them have a degraded appearance: they have charred features of their skin, carmine flashes in their angry eyes, scars behind their backs because they lack their wings.

It emerges a strange, dark, diabolical aura from those people, which sometimes takes on human features, as if it was the personification of their inner demons, as if it was corrupt.

Although Kurapika sees every day that horrid spectacle in which poverty and ignorance reigns supreme, he cannot help but wince.

Even now he pales; his gaze becomes vacant, his throat tightens.

Pairo notices it.

“Have you seen how prudent Pietro is?” he asks, trying to distract him.

"I don't know if they realized they’re late," Kurapika comments sarcastically.

"I was the one who  _ suggested _ him not to be reckless as usual," Pairo reveals chuckling.

Kurapika turns to him, amazed.

"I mean that, once again, I managed to put myself in emotional communication with him. I made sure that my will was also his. It's not easy with a stubborn person like him”, he explains in a better way.

"I would gladly change partner. Just know it,” Kurapika says, annoyed, “Leorio is an idiot."

"Do you try, at least, to  _ communicate _ with him?" the boy with the dark bob asks.

He doesn’t get a reply.

* * *

"Good morning. Can I interest you in our new mouthwash? It’s without alcohol, menthol and chlorhexidine. It doesn’t stain your teeth ", it’s the phrase Leorio repeats for the umpteenth time at the umpteenth bystander.

A bystander any different from the others, who tries to dismiss him in every way.

"No, thanks. I already have my mouthwash."

"This is peculiar, sir. It contains hyaluronic acid, aloe vera, vitamin and... "

"Thanks anyway".

"May I, at least, leave you a flyer?"

"I'm in a hurry."

Two seconds pass. A new potential client appears on the horizon: a fleshy lady who’s holding her chihuahua in a leopard-print pullover.

"Good morning, ma'am. Can I interest you in...?"

With a clever move, the woman  _ circumnavigates _ him as if he were a plague victim, not failing to give him a dirty look. To end in style, her dog shows his teeth, growling.

Leorio takes a deep breath, dilating his nostrils in anger.

"That old spinster..." he mutters.

There’s no time to complain. Another person stops in front of the bag shop next to the drug store; a tall, slender girl with wavy hair and long fake nails.

Leorio raises an eyebrow for a moment while he checks her out. Interesting.

"Hey, sweetheart," he begins, coming closer and placing his upper body on the window from which she is admiring the merchandise, "I have something you might be interested in."

The young woman looks at him from the top down.

"I'm engaged," she answers. Leorio blinks rapidly: he didn't expect such frankness.

"Well, all the more reason to recommend you a product for your oral hygiene."

For some presumable divine intercession, the girl doesn’t slap his cheek, and limits herself to naming him "Jerk" before suddenly turning tail and leaving like a model on the catwalk.

On the sides of the entrance to the pharmacy, Pairo and Kurapika are crouched. The latter has his head sunk between his knees.

"At least he is enterprising!" Pairo exclaims to try to cheer him up.

"To think we angels can never lose sight of our human partner...  _ This _ is the real hell", the other one babbles in a grim tone.

"You should trust Leorio a little more."

"Why should I? He’s  _ ungrateful _ . And he can't even stay strong," Kurapika says, finally raising his head to observe his  _ pupil _ , who has meanwhile spotted another prey.

"Hey~ How about buying my special mouthwash?" he begins, "It's without chlorhexidine,  _ methanol _ , alcohol..."

"God..." Kurapika hisses, running his fingers through his hair and contracting the features of his face in an exasperated expression, "I'm embarrassed for him."

"Look at the girl's expression! She widened her eyes!” Pairo indicates, amused.

"I don't want to see it. He is so numb-nuts for her he didn't notice the mistake!"

"But now she gave him a half smile and took a flyer! Maybe she likes him!"

"Why do I have to look after a boy of such  _ social class _ ?" Kurapika begins to complain, "I'm constantly surrounded by unlearned and gross people... Leorio doesn't even believe mine,  _ our _ existence! He lives hand to mouth, without a specific purpose! How could  _ I _ take someone like him to the right path?"

"If they entrusted him to you, it means that..."

"It's just bad luck." His features are blunted. He looks down and, after a while, he murmurs: “I don't feel like fighting anymore. I just wanted to die in peace and suppress my conscience".

In his irises flashes a scarlet red that Pairo notices. This immediately makes him serious. He doesn’t hesitate to gently put a hand on his shoulder.

"You mustn’t let negative emotions haunt your mind. Fallen angels and corrupt humans have begun their nefarious journey starting precisely from thoughts like yours". He looks at Kurapika’s back, where two scars can be seen from the dress’ tears corresponding to his back, and then at his head. "Look at you, you've already lost your halo and your wings."

“So be it”, Kurapika speaks with determination, “If I deserve to burn in hell, so be it”.

"Stop that! Don't talk nonsense!", Pairo exclaims, shaking him a little, "If you don't want to do it for yourself, do it for Leorio. If he loses you, who are his spiritual guide, his soul is likely to be corrupted too."

Kurapika stops breathing for a few moments, then wrinkles his forehead, tightens his jaw and curves his lips into a nervous smile.

"What do I care about him?" he answers almost imperceptibly.

Pairo, after looking at his face, tells him: "You're good at lying. I’m sure you’re not a selfish soul; I can read it in your eyes”.

And Kurapika moves his eyes to his direction, slightly raising an eyebrow in surprise. Pairo smiles at him.

"Leorio needs you."

Leorio can't stop swearing, not even now that he’s in the public bath of the mall to do his business and rinse off his glasses, fogged up by the thermal hood caused by the concentration of people. Those people look at him as if he were a fanatic who’s hurling curses.

His lunch break was cut short by the arrival of his boss, who went on to check the way things were going and personally speak with Leorio.

Not to say he  _ yelled _ at him in front of everyone, telling him he found out about the umpteenth delay that also influenced his colleague Pietro’s work; that was his umpteenth call.

And the worst thing happened when, once the boss said he was guaranteeing him that job to help him - since he can't even afford to get his driving license - Leorio had the courage to hold it against him that he accepted the employment  _ only _ because he was desperate.

Pietro kept telling him to consider himself lucky if he just forbade his lunch break and he didn’t dismiss him; but Leorio is now an explosion of fury and humiliation, and he doesn’t want to hear reasons.

Kurapika is already tired of hearing him murmuring insults that turn York Shin slums’ vocabulary envious; he observes him with an unprecedented anger, with his arms folded, feeling an abysmal impotence for not being able to give him a punch and for having to endure him in those moments.

"You swear like a wretch against things you don't even believe in," he suddenly says, approaching Leorio, who is still staring at the sink. He bangs his hand against the marble surface and approaches his face to Leorio’s. "Hypocrite!"

Leorio obviously doesn’t see or hear him, and meanwhile he feels like mimicking: “ ‘Someone is protecting you’, Pietro always tells me, ‘Have faith’. Tsk, if this is indeed the case, this protector of mine must be an incapable jackass”.

It is too much for Kurapika's already meagre patience. A rapid movement of his forefinger makes the water, with which Leorio is washing his hands, incandescent. He hunts a scream that once again scares the men in the bathroom.

Another swear word, followed by "What the hell...?" as he closes the tap and blows his hands to cool them.

"Don't compare me to you," Kurapika intimates.

His anger and that series of unfortunate events have definitively prevented Leorio from carrying out his day's work in a professional manner. Got out from the building more than half an hour ago, and crouched over the curb that gives to a flower bed, he takes out a cigarette from the package he always keeps in his trouser pocket; he lights it with his lighter and gets it to his mouth. He inhales deeply, then exhales all the smoke, filling the whole environment with the smell of tobacco.

In the same curb, a bit distant but seated in the same way, there’s Kurapika, who almost gives him his back and keeps a bitter expression.

There’s silence on both sides, and some friction too, as if they really met - or clashed - and quarrelled.

Leorio keeps his gaze fixed on the clouds, he admires the sky; then sighs, almost grunting. It’s not easy being a promoter of parapharmaceutical products of a company that brings its products to the shopping centre located on the outskirts of the city. He must constantly be in contact with people, who suck up his lifeblood, and he must always say the same things.

Unfortunately, for a boy who has hardly succeeded in graduating, no better prospects can be imagined. People cannot dream in these cases.

The more they dream, the more they suffer. Leorio knows well about this.

"Aah, I'm a failure..." he suddenly mutters with trembling voice, ruffling his hair with his free hand and inhaling smoke with the other.

Kurapika, at his side, hears it.

"Leo!" Pietro calls him from afar, coming out of the side entrance with his coat on. Unlike Leorio, he is directly one of the drug store’s salesmen. Pairo, his guiding spirit, is behind him.

"I've been looking for you everywhere! You can't just sit here all the time!"

"Are you fucking around too?"

"I’m saying this for your own good, you idiot. If the boss comes back and catches you like that, he'll fire you for sure," he warns, frowning.

“So be it. I have nothing to lose anymore," Leorio replies after having exhaled other smoke nonchalantly.

Meanwhile, Kurapika feels Pairo's eyes on him. An inquisitorial and compassionate look at the same time.

He and Leorio are not so different from each other in their way of thinking; but so much similarity makes them incompatible, because the malaise of one becomes that of the other.

_ "But you two are on different levels," _ Pairo had explained him long ago,  _ "You are the guide, he is the pupil. Only you can be able to find the strength to overcome the problems that still afflict your heart and Leorio’s". _

Chills run up and down Kurapika’s spine, and he instinctively closes his eyes, while Leorio asks Pietro to cover him somehow while he’s consuming his cigarette.

* * *

On Saturday, Leorio always ends his shift at eight p.m., just because his boss wants him to burden the choice of Sunday as his free day.

At least, it was Saturday. This means "staying up late".

Come back home at dinner time, almost crawling, he throws his briefcase and the house keys on the sofa; he takes off his shoes and throws them on the floor, making them fly in mid-air.

After stretching and pulling a yawn so loud it forces Kurapika to plug his ears, he notices an annoying small flashing light on his landline phone - a sort of square box with gigantic buttons, suitable for the farsighted elders, paid a pittance.

There’s an acoustic message left by someone at six p.m. Leorio presses a button, puffing.

"Hi, son", begins a male voice, "I have topped up your card with fifty jeni. Make them enough for this month, please. Big hugs".

“Tsk”, Leorio emits while clearing the message, “What the fuck should I buy with fifty jeni? A decent grocery now requires a hundred jeni. How stingy you are..."

His father's situation is very different from his, since he’s fruitfully maintained by some of his rich relatives with whom he decided to go and live in the Kakin continent. He practically ran away from the pittance in which he lived, abandoning his - according to him – incompetent son.

" ‘And what about my son?’ ‘Wait, what son?’ ‘Oh, you mean the unlucky one who always played truant and was a bully on purpose because he knew his parents would have never accepted him in any way? Nah, let's let him rot in the squalor of this infamous ghetto. He belongs there’ ", Leorio begins to mimic to himself, gripped by another fit of rage and frustration.

Put on his pyjamas, he takes a hamburger out of a bag he has had time to buy at McDonald's in the mall, and he jumps on the sofa in front of the newly turned-on TV; he devours it in a few minutes, not failing to utter a loud belch that makes his spirit guide shiver.

"Let's see if there's anything interesting," he says as he zaps.

Kurapika sits on the same couch, but away from him.

That ramshackle TV takes very few channels. Leorio catches some boring western movies, a disgusting documentary about sebaceous cysts, a boxing match and poker games.

Suddenly, Jurassic Park appears on a channel, the first film of the saga. Kurapika's eyes shine. They’re in full swing: dinosaurs have already attacked the city. He hadn't seen that movie since time immemorial.

"You better not change channel", he threatens Leorio.

The latter does is after asserting: "Bullshit".

Kurapika’s jaw drops. It's war.

"You bastard! Put it back  _ now _ !” he orders, extending a hand to grab the remote control, but remembering he belongs to a different dimension as soon as it passes through.

"I'll make you change your mind," he says.

He peers into his eyes carefully, straining every fibre of his brain to try to establish some kind of mental connection with him, as Pairo does with Pietro.

"How come a good porn hasn’t even started?" Leorio comments in the meantime, unaware.

"I. want. Jurassic. Park”, Kurapika articulates about one millimetre from his ear.

And he achieves some effects. Leorio suddenly enters that channel from his remote control. The fearsome dinosaurs in computer graphics appear once again on the screen.

"What the-?" he snaps confused, as if he’s awakened from a very brief state of trance, "Why the hell did I put it back?"

Kurapika’s eyes widen. It worked. He can't believe it.

"You better leave it here," he concludes, settling himself more comfortably on the sofa, cross-legged. He would have never thought that spirits like angels could still benefit from heavy objects like chairs and sofas.

Leorio gets tired of zapping. With maximum TV volume and some t-rex roaring in the background, he unlocks the screen of his mobile phone and starts logging into different social networks, while Kurapika is abducted by the action scenes like a child.

He has always been a fan of adventure, sci-fi and supernatural series, contrary to what others might have believed. In his room there were posters of "Back to the future" and "Doctor Who", of which he had never revealed the existence to any friend.

Besides, he didn't even have friends.

His euphoric smile fades a little.

A strange mumble coming from his left crushes his whirlwind of thoughts several minutes later. He turns his head and he immediately feels blood pumping in his ears and neck, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

Leorio is haunting what he’s understood to be a  _ mature _ dating site.

He’s flipping through the photographic repertoire of a woman whose tight-fitting, transparent clothes leave little room for imagination.

All of it with his legs spread, and a hand  _ rummaging _ inside his pants. Not to mention the excited grin that now shapes his face.

Kurapika flinches. His body emits an involuntary jolt, which makes him find balance on his feet, portrayed up to the edge of the sofa, crouched in a fetal position, stiff as marble and with an expression between disgusted and terrified.

"Wai-- Heck,  _ no _ !", he bursts out, turning his head away and cursing himself for not being able to get away from him even in such intimate circumstances. "Spare me!"

Unfortunately, his hearing works too well, and he soon realizes that maybe being turned while Leorio  _ minds his own business _ like a perfect sexually repressed person, and the first pleasure pants mixed with grunts of euphoria reach his ears, is even worse.

He turns his head again. He doesn't even know why.  _ "To understand how far he is," _ he thinks. That sounds  _ so _ wrong.

He bitterly repents. Or maybe not?  _ Of course yes _ .

Leorio’s trousers are semi-dropped. His hand wraps his  _ unnameable _ , already carefully stimulated.

Horror and panic shape his face.

"Not in front of me!"

* * *

"You did what?" Pairo asks, appalled.

"You heard me," Kurapika cuts short. He’s sitting with him on a free bench.

"Did you cause a short-circuit in the building, letting Leorio's face slam against another corner?" his friend repeats.

"Precisely".

"Don't you think it was... how can I say...  _ too much _ ?"

"How else could I stop him? Did I have to make a piece of plaster, corroded by the mold, fall on his head? Or maybe the ivory statuette of the glass case inherited from his grandmother?”

"No, I mean  _ why  _ stop him!"

Kurapika remains speechless for a second.

"Isn’t it obvious!?", he blurts out, "He was making  _ filthy things _ in front of my poor eyes!"

"He couldn't know," Pairo enjoins with a sympathetic smile, "You can't prevent him from doing the only thing he can probably do now to soothe his nerves."

"It's disgusting, okay?"

"Didn’t you do it too?"

Kurapika casts his eyes on him, rather panicky. That child speaks of everything with impressive ease, as if he had lived so many situations that he could no longer be scandalized.

"We're talking about Leorio," he points out at the end. He starts drumming his fingers on the surface on which they’re sitting.

"We angels must also endure the unpleasant things of our partners. We are with them to guide them when needed, not to interfere in every little thing for our whim”.

"Do you want me to believe that you’d be fine if Pietro...?". He extends the silence to make him understand.

"Masturbated?", Pairo makes it clear.

" _ Don't say it with nonchalance _ !" Kurapika bursts out, waving a hand.

"That's the technical term."

"Just answer my question."

“Well, of course I don't interfere. It’s an intimate, relaxing moment. When Pietro was engaged, he and his girl used to do it whenever they could. Count yourself lucky Leorio has only come to this, for now; but you should still start to get used to the idea he may, one day, be romantically linked to someone and he’ll consume something”.

"He won’t," Kurapika murmurs. Pairo doesn't hear it.

His now melancholy gaze settles in the distance towards Leorio, sitting at the outside table of a cafeteria together with Pietro, intent on sipping an espresso while he nods with a languid and bewildered look whenever Pietro begins to tell him something that systematically turns into a kilometric monologue.

Leorio is pale as wax, and the bags under his flush eyes are more pronounced. However, this doesn’t contribute to deface his natural  _ charm _ . That messy hair, that unkempt beard; Kurapika doesn't find them so terrible.

"You really  _ mashed _ him yesterday," Pairo says, "He’s about to fall asleep with his nose in the cup of coffee."

"He was the one who didn't want to sleep anymore after what happened," Kurapika justifies himself, crossing his arms, "He was too upset to be able to relax again."

"I wonder why..."

"He couldn't sleep. He turned around and around all the time," he says as he notices Leorio lighting another cigarette, "Well, that made my  _ night job _ easier. When he doesn’t rest, I rest".

"But you aren’t really affected by sleep loss!” Pairo objects, "Humans must sleep and dream if they want to recharge. We don't need it; at night we are in charge of monitoring their dreams and making sure that less negative emotions and memories prevail from their unconscious, because unless they would turn into nightmares”.

"Or alternatively, to avoid psychic repercussions, we have to wake ‘em up," Kurapika adds, "Leorio always gives me a hard time when he dreams. He often makes things... very difficult".

"That's why you should try to provide him something positive! Don't forget you two have a really intense spiritual communication, because the emotions of one become those of the other".

"I don't think he will get any happiness from me," Kurapika states.

"Then let him  _ relieve  _ himself!"

"That's vulgar." He turns almost completely and crosses his arms, like an offended child.

Pairo sighs. "Even Leorio must have a lot of patience with you." However, he sits closer to Kurapika, and surrounds his shoulders in an embrace, with surprising delicacy; he smiles at him like a patient mother.

Kurapika didn’t expect that reaction, so he stiffens. He can't look right back; he shifts his gaze to Leorio and Pietro, who are chatting - not to say only Pietro is speaking. Anyway, he doesn’t try to break free, because that unusual contact gives him a pleasant, almost familiar warmth.

“You know...” his lips begin to utter in a subdued and almost confessional tone, as if only Pairo is allowed to hear it, “... I haven’t received these  _ gestures _ in my past life very often”.

Pairo listens in silence.

"There was only one person who held me in his arms, with feeling."

And he stops there. He adds nothing, not even the name of the person concerned.

He stays still, with an absorbed gaze, always pointed in front of him.

Leorio is heading home again, gripped by drowsiness. He staggers most of the time, and often observes the floor as he’s unable to focus on the horizon.

Behind him there is a rather tense Kurapika, who follows his every move, ready to do whatever he can to prevent Leorio from tumbling. The latter inevitably hits the endless influx of people on the sidewalk.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" someone not too friendly tells him.

"Are you drunk?" another one blurts out.

“Piss off”, Leorio replies sometimes, miraculously avoiding potential fistfights.

In the midst of that hovel, there are the guiding spirits of those people too, of every type, ethnicity, temperament, degree of purity or corruption. Between them there’s who scrutinizes the two of ‘em with a wary air, who with hilarity, who with simple indifference. Some wave their hands at Kurapika in greeting, others even greet him.

However, Kurapika ignores each of these reactions, as he usually does; perhaps due to excessive discretion, shyness, or a touch of boldness. After all, besides Pairo, the angel of Leorio's best friend, he didn’t manage to establish any other bonds.

Just a few seconds of distraction, that Kurapika spends on taking care of the hypothetical looks that aim at them, are enough for him to lose sight of Leorio.

It all happens in an  _ eternal instant _ .

His heart skips a beat. Where is that foolish?

He turns first to his right, where the crowd is, and then to his left. He opens his eyes wide; he sees him tottering in the middle of the street. He’s crossing it on the pedestrian crossing, but careless of that traffic, with his gaze fixed on his feet.

A few meters away it can already be heard the brakes of a pearl-gray Lamborghini as it looms dangerously over the young man.

Kurapika's body moves suddenly on its own, towards a destiny that it’s impossible for him not to predict as stained with blood. Leorio lays his eyes on the car, beginning to realize the danger.

" _ It's too fast _ ," Kurapika thinks.

_ "Move, you’ll get hit!" _

_ "And if you get hit..." _

_ "... you'll be the one to leave!" _

At the moment before the inevitable happens, Kurapika's extended right hand, leaning towards him, becomes tangible; it finds contact with Leorio's jacket at his shoulders. He pushes him away from the road with all possible force, making him almost crush on the parallel sidewalk where, fortunately, he runs into a vigorous man who holds him up.

Kurapika, left in the middle of the road, senses the car coming up against him and passing through him before braking a few meters later. He can feel every fibre of his being stiffen and tremble like a leaf, like a crumbling house of cards; blood flows to his head and throat, his breathing becomes laboured, his face is paralyzed with terror.

Behind him, the crowd of people rail against the driver and go to surround an equally frightened Leorio.

"You rascal! You could kill him!” a woman shouts at the man with Lamborghini, who’s also amazed.

"There is a speed limit even for rich people like you, you road hog!" another one bursts out.

"How are you, dude? Is everything okay?” the good burly individual, who supported him, asks him.

Leorio doesn’t react. He keeps having his eyes lost in the void, almost troubled. He even lets himself be given confidential pats, carried on a bench and given something to drink; he generally wouldn’t allow it, and he would liquidate everyone with a simple "I'm fine" and a shrug.

Suddenly, something in his eyes lights up. He looks at each of those people for the first time, including the man who is probably dialling the ambulance number.

"You’ve been good at throwing yourself at the last second. You have quick reflexes" a guy tells him.

“Throwing myself?” he finally says with weak voice, "No... Someone pushed me."

Kurapika manages to turn his head in his direction, and keeps listening.

"Who... who saved me?" Leorio insists on.

"You were alone in the middle of the street. No one has pushed you", another individual speaks.

" _ No _ , I... I clearly felt a push. Right here" he says with harsher tone, pointing to his right shoulder.

"You're just a little shaken," a woman intrudes, affectionately resting her hand on his forearm.

"Your guardian angel must have protected you. God always watches over us" a gentleman of middle age suddenly speaks, with balmy expression.

"Cut the crap!” Leorio bursts, frowning angrily, "Someone  _ must _ have saved me. I want them to know I am grateful”.

"I did it," someone states in the fray: a shabby little boy, with dishevelled black hair, his face smudged with dirt, and ragged clothes.

"Who are you? I don't think I saw you before" another boy says.

"I didn't know whether to reveal it or let it go. I don't like tooting my own horn" he replies with a mysterious look.

"This boy was alone on the pedestrian crossing. I watched the whole scene. Who do you think you're fooling?" a gentleman bursts out, pointing at him.

"You should put on your glasses," the boy says with cheekiness. The man's wife grabs him by his arms to prevent him from raising his hands.

"It seems to me I saw you once, as you slipped into a kiosk and stole something!" a woman ventured.

"One does not take credit for things they haven’t done," the apparently religious guy reproaches him.

"What do you know, old man? Who guarantees you I exist? Couldn't I be an angel manifested in front of you?"

"Everybody shut up".

All the people turn to Leorio, who has just spoken. He has eyes only for that boy. He checks him out; he's uncertain, but he doesn't care. It was enough for him that someone would pronounce himself to put an end to his inner doubts.

"Can I offer something in return to repay you?" he asks. He has understood well, from the way he is dressed, that he is a poor person, perhaps even homeless; certainly in a worse condition than his. As much as he's probably lying, he can't help but feel detached to these people.

“I'm hungry”, the interlocutor replies after a while, slightly bowing his head.

As he thought. He rummages in the pocket of his jacket in search of small change, taking out coins that, put together, don't even reach five jeni. He mentally curses his boss for not having given him last month's salary yet.

"That's all I have now. They should be enough for a sandwich or one of those combined dishes you find at the supermarket" he says, handing them to him.

The boy, after throwing him an astonished look with his shining eyes, grabs the coins from his hand and runs away.

One of the leading spirits who witnessed that scene approaches Kurapika. It’s not like the others: it has a leaden grey robe, as it’s dirty; a gaunt, pale face, sunken eyes, almost covered by the fringe of his dark hair. He too is devoid of halo and wings. His skin is numb.

It sways like a threatening shadow.

"What a tremendous aura you have! If you still had a heart, it would beat an almost inhuman rhythm" he begins to say with an unexpectedly strident and annoying voice, "Sometimes humans can be truly ungrateful, and weak. Why should you  _ serve _ someone like him? Betray him! Abandon him! You are only gaining dissatisfaction from it. And all of this  _ just _ to obtain a place in that boring garden of Eden? I know a better place, where no one tells you what to do, you have no punishment to pay and…"

"Shut up".

The command comes out of Kurapika's hoarse, intimidating mouth. His fists are clenched, his knuckles bleached. His face is of marble; his eyes have become of a brilliant scarlet, like fiery flames of hell.

"Not another word," he concludes without even looking at that creature’s face, that, as a reply, laughs and evaporates.

* * *

  


Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Leorio, after having fully recovered and refused further solicitations from people who seemed to play nurses, he watched TV series about medical interventions and autopsies, or he stayed in front of his PC to play a video game within a platform common to many other game-players, in which one must try to survive in a kind of battlefield.

Even now, at eight p.m., Leorio keeps playing uninterruptedly with a certain mastery, but without particular expressiveness; whether he wins or loses, he always remains impassive, as if he wants to try, in vain, to free his head from certain thoughts.

Curled up nearby Leorio’s bed, in the shadows of his room, Kurapika is also silent. He keeps his face sunk in his knees, wrapped further by his folded arms.

Unlike Leorio, he cannot distract his flow of thoughts. Too many haunts.

The words of the one who identified before as a "tempting devil" echo in his mind like alarm bells.

He was wrong.

No.

He told the truth.

So are these the famous  _ seductions _ to which an angel can be exposed? And yet they sound so damn true.

Humans are fools, wretches. He himself was. And now that he’s an angel, not only he has to borne the burden of being a spirit guide, but also the weight of his partner's foolishness.

Kurapika is an angel without wings or a halo, with eyes turning red in moments of anger; he's already partially corrupt, but it doesn't matter that much. He has always presumed he belonged to that  _ lineage _ . He feels like a whitefly.

Yet he, who believes he deserves a place in the deepest bowels of earth, would have died for Leorio that day. Without thinking about it, he threw himself towards him, managing to conjure his hand’s push for a moment; but then he stayed in the middle of the road, and the car would’ve run over him if he were alive.

And for what use in the end?

He bends his lips in a sad smile.

_ It's a vice, then. It’s destiny. _

He had discussed this with Pairo once.

In spiritual life there is no physical but mental pain. You don’t feel hunger, thirst, sleep and almost all earthly needs; but the positive and negative emotions of the soul are intensified. You cannot have contacts with your loved ones, you cannot talk to the living, not even with your partner; you cannot touch him, nor kick him for some boondoggle.

_ "What gratification can you feel if you help someone who doesn't recognize your effort?" _ Kurapika had asked him.

_ "Personal satisfaction" _ , Pairo had replied,  _ "The joy of helping someone you love. You don't always need someone's approval; otherwise, it means you care more about being praised than that person’s salvation". _

_ "I'm pretty sure only the so-called saints reason this way." _

_ "And that’s what we must aspire to, to be worthy of Eden." _

_ "What if I don’t want to?" _

A question always valid for him. Kurapika, long ago, simply wanted to die and end his suffering.

_ In reality, the most important thing for you is Leorio’s wellbeing. _

_ But he’s a disbelieving and unrecognizing idiot! _

_ True love knows no boundaries. _

_ But nobody taught me what it was! _

_ No one except... _

He opens his eyes wide. He frowns. He raises his head. He takes a breath and suddenly bursts out: " _ What a mess _ !"

Caught up in a rush of  _ cathartic madness _ , he vigorously ruffles his hair and shakes his head.

"I'm a mess!" he shouts again.

He observes Leorio, who, acting totally deadbeat, he’s scratching his private parts with a lost look on the screen.

" _ You're _ a mess!" he lashes out, pointing his finger at him.

He rises from the ground with a combative attitude.

"Only I, that I’ve wasted my life and already made my mistakes, can afford to feel like shit and be a feckless. Since  _ you _ are now under  _ my _ protection, you will go straight; not crooked, not oblique, not curved, but  _ straight _ . I’ve never endured people like you; I am capricious, spoiled, and things must be done as I say. I’ll exploit this flaw of mine to make you, you wretch, a more decent person. And if you can't hear me, if you  _ don't want to _ hear me, I assure you that you’ll  _ perceive  _ me in many other ways. No matter how!"

He bangs his fist against the bedside table nearby the bed, causing a deafening thud that reaches Leorio's ears. The latter takes off his headphones.

"What the bloody hell--?". He looks around, frightened. "What was that?"

Kurapika scans him proudly. "Your worst nightmare."

* * *

  


Next Monday. 6.00 am.

Leorio is awakened by the dull thud of one of the books stacked on his desk that has fallen to the ground - or rather, that someone has dropped.

Disturbed by his interrupted sleep, he mutters an oath and turns to the other side.

A few seconds later, the alarm clock rings, causing him to take another fright. He stretches his left arm and turns it off. He checks the time and rises an eyebrow.

"It's too early!" he complains, "And I don't remember I set it yesterday!"

“Bingo”, Kurapika begins to say, coming towards him, “Stand up, you slacker. You have a few things to do before going to work."

Meanwhile, Leorio, still shaken, reflects aloud: "I’ve probably set it and now I don't remember. Do I have something to do?"

“You’re pretty insightful this morning”, the angel comments. With a quick movement of the fingers, he ends up dropping all the books – not put back in place for centuries - to the ground, along with all the clothes piled up on the chair that, if it could talk, would beg for mercy.

“Oh, fuck...” Leorio mumbles when he sees that mess, “Were they really so on-the-brink?”

"You have a  _ stable _ to clean, my dear," Kurapika announces, while he has fun making the vacuum cleaner, that’s held behind the shoe rack, almost drop.

Having uttered a loud yawn and stretched along its length on his bed, Leorio says: "Gah, perhaps I should settle this pigsty".

6.15 am. Leorio has time to rinse his face and shave serenely.

6.25 am. Leorio is face to face with the  _ cosmic void _ in his fridge. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

"I could have gone shopping yesterday. I’m such an idiot…” he murmurs.

"Remember today you only work half-day," Kurapika begins to speak to him with peculiar patience, "You can do it in the afternoon; nay,  _ I want  _ you to do it".

After a few moments of reflection, Leorio resolves: "I'll do it this afternoon. If I am not mistaken, today I only work five hours”.

Kurapika doesn’t hesitate to make a pen move slightly next to a notepad, and Leorio remembers to write down the most important things to buy, including toothpaste.

"I can have breakfast in a bar, hoping my small change is enough."

6.30 am. Kurapika manifests in every possible way his disappointment towards Leorio's crumpled uniform, and somehow Leorio feels the same, so much that he wants to iron it.

6.40 am. Leorio takes up cleaning tools and dishcloths. He folds his garments in a questionable manner, putting those to be washed into the basket; then he puts everything left on his desk in the library.

The vacuum cleaner sucks up everything: dust, leftover crackers, pencil mines and, nearly, used handkerchiefs and individual socks found under the bed.

7.25 am. Leorio accumulates a few jeni for a croissant and a coffee at the bar downstairs.

7.40 am. Leorio is already sitting at the front steps of his building, waiting for Pietro. He never ceases to be surprised at himself. The  _ mistake _ of having anticipated the alarm clock has been enough for him to do all those things without delay.

"I’ve unknowingly been provident!" he says, showing off a pleased smile.

Kurapika, at his side, rolls his eyes and emits a slight "Tsk".

7.50 am. Pietro joins him with his car.

"You must be a look-alike of him!" he exclaims incredulously, "An intelligent look-alike, though."

" _ Hilarious. _ "

8.20 am. Leorio is already dealing with a potential customer as stubborn as an idiot. First, he approached his counter to inquire about the benefits of an enzyme; then, after Leorio's long explanation, he said he didn't care.

"Excuse me, but..." Leorio speaks, trying to contain his nerves, "... if you don't care, why did you ask?"

"It's for my wife. She is gluten intolerant," he clarifies with his phlegmy voice. His breath smelled of nicotine.

"So it may interest her!"

"Nah, she is taking another one."

" _ I’ll fry him _ ," Leorio thinks.

"Don't beat yourself up. You’re not gonna let him win!" Kurapika, who has so far been close to him, speaks. "Use your wit and realize that many other people are listening to your conversation. Show them you're a sales wizard and you'll kill two birds with one stone”.

"Well, goodbye and good work", the man is about to leave.

"Wait," comes out of Leorio's mouth.

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me which enzymes your wife takes, how much they cost and what properties they have?"

To his surprise, the old man explains to him name, price, active ingredients, effects and contraindications of that medicine. So the odds are two: either he monitors his wife day and night, or actually the matter concerns him personally.

"Oh," Leorio utters, showing off an understanding smile and not hesitating to grab a flyer that lies professionally in front of the gentleman, "Maybe you don't know that..."

His detailed explanation of the advantages of that enzyme and the list of all its properties and dosage could have made a chemist and a specialist envious.

One of the positive things that nature gave Leorio is an excellent memory and interest in these scientific disciplines, which he strives to deepen online when he can.

Remained visibly displaced and with no more objections, the man stares at the dazed flyer.

“Leorio”, Kurapika calls him, “Come on, finish him”.

"It would therefore be absurd to avoid testing this medicine of ours, which, as you have noticed, has greater ingredients of natural origin and a better price performance. His wife's health comes first. The customers who tried it were all pleasantly surprised".

People around them are amazed. For the first time in all that career of him, Leorio is seen in a different light: more competent, serious, determined.

Leorio himself wonders why he has now such unusual inner determination. Could it be that the almost yesterday's accident and the scarecrow reactivated some of his neurons?

“T-Thank you for the pieces of information. I'll think about it”, the gentleman replies, pocketing the flyer slightly in awe and moving away.

"Come back and see us!" Leorio greets him cheerfully, waving his hand and smiling.

A smile in which Kurapika gets lost for a moment, together with his marked, virile features of his profile; his honey-coloured eyes that shine with life, his pronounced jaw line.

He swallows and takes a deep breath, shaking his head a little.

"I'm proud of you," he murmurs.

Leorio's speech immediately attracts many other people, who approach him to praise him or have him repeat something; including his boss, who was on the sidelines, listening to him without his knowledge, and who congratulates him for his work. He finally delivers his last month's pay, which Leorio promptly translates into "abundant grocery".

"What spell did you do to him, Kurapika?" a familiar voice asks him suddenly.

“Pairo!” he exclaims when he sees him approaching him, “I thought you were guarding Pietro”.

"When I heard Leorio talk that much, I rushed out," he explains, smiling, "Today I see both of you very... energetic."

"Let's say that yesterday I had a sort of  _ awareness _ ".

"What do you mean?"

"They say sometimes, to fully become aware of your misery, you must hit bottom and have no other support than yourself. So you have to react, because you have no other choice. Otherwise you die," he explains, “I want to experience on my skin the words you told me long ago.  _ ‘True happiness comes from the satisfaction of having helped someone without expecting anything in return’ _ . I think the only reward that we angels can expect is the happiness of our partner".

"Wow! You almost look like another person!” Pairo comments with a smug smile.

"Or maybe I just have a screw loose. You know how it is, with this  _ charity case _ I find myself with” Kurapika claims to dampen that solemn air.

2.00 pm. After the lunch kindly offered by Pietro, Leorio leaves to go to the supermarket. Back home, he finds his half-ramshackle old bicycle on the shared basement of the condominium, which he has had since he was in junior high. He hasn't used it for a long time; he’s become too accustomed of hitching a ride.

It’s all dusty, and the gears are quite rusty. The young man tries to clean it up as best as he can.

"I hope you don't leave me on foot," he mutters.

Kurapika watches the bike. It has been manufactured for a person of lower age and size, given the small elevation of the saddle. However, Leorio has always been taller than the norm, compared to his peers; therefore, in every bike he happens to use, he has to keep his knees a little out, as if he were manoeuvring a tricycle.

At the rear wheel, exactly above it, another saddle was abusively mounted.

He feels a strong heartbeat.

Leorio also looks at it for a few seconds, before starting to blather: " _ The grocery _ , the grocery... Think about grocery. I haven't forgotten anything, have I? Nah, I don't think so. Well, I better get out of here. There’s smell of damp”.

The bike emits annoying squeaks, but at least it walks.

"Crap, the list!" he exclaims, giving himself a pat on his forehead.

When he comes back out of breath, the bike is always there, and Kurapika has decided to ride on the rear seat. Sometimes even angels like a hitch.

He therefore waits for Leorio to go up too. His partner's back is now in front of his face; a straight and vigorous back, despite the fact that the older one has not been involved in sports for some years, and broad shoulders accentuated by the folds of the dark striped shirt he wears.

Kurapika stretches his hands almost automatically to wrap them around Leorio's hips and hold on tight, but he stops and pulls them back as soon as he realizes it. Not that Leorio can feel his contact, but the angel prefers to be stable on his own.

When Leorio leaves, Kurapika lets himself be invested by the fresh air of the early afternoon, raising his head towards the sky and closing his eyes. He still manages to feel many sensations like the pleasure of being bathed in light and the heat of the sun’s reflections, or caressed by the wind that pushes his blond locks away from his face due to the speed.

All things he might miss when, and if, he moves to Eden.

When he opens his eyes, Leorio's backside is almost on his face.

The grimace he makes is indescribable.

"Woo-hoo!" his partner exclaims, filled with joy and advancing so quickly that he spontaneously raised his butt from his seat and proceeded remaining balanced on his legs.

Kurapika widens his eyes. "He’ll crash somewhere if I'm not careful," he says, moving his eyes to the street, trying not to look too hard at his - according to him – firm bottom.

3.00 pm. Something is not right with the accounts that Leorio had made. He should have spent no more than a hundred jeni, but the grocery proved to be twice as expensive. It may be because he failed to resist the "take three pay one" offer of the Scots pine bubble bath, or how cute the dragonfly-shaped paperweights were - that he’ll surely relegate to his collection of useless and unused items -, or the purchase of napkins that he didn't remember he already has at home, or the most expensive aftershave that smelled of eucalyptus.

Each time, he blames himself after giving in to those temptations.

Sitting on the toilet bowl, he checks the mileage with awareness and apprehension, while Kurapika leans out of the open bathroom window, desperately trying to breathe fresh air.

"Shit!" he hears Leorio exclaim as he realizes he hasn't restock the toilet paper.

3.30 pm. The delirium. Leorio has so much vitality to drop off that he decides to listen to his beloved playlist of music tracks at an exaggeratedly high volume through his YouTube profile, which he calls "Spotify of the poor"; all while arranging desk drawers full of junk and other clothing.

The voice of Bon Jovi, one of his favourite rock stars, resonates throughout the room - and probably throughout the whole condominium.

" _ This ain't a song for the broken-hearted _ ", Leorio sings at the top of his lungs as he uses his water bottle as a microphone, " _ No silent prayer for the faith-departed _ ".

He strums on the ground with his feet every time there’s a drum solo, which has always been his favourite instrument.

Kurapika is sitting on his bed, and dangles his feet a little to the rhythm of that song he knows very well. He doesn't stop him from listening to his music. Why should he if it makes him happy? His only fear is the neighbourhood, which perhaps, at this time of the afternoon, would like to get some sleep. The last time Leorio showed off his questionable singing skills, the old hysteric granny of the ground floor came to knock on his door with a flour-covered rolling pin on her hand.

" _ I ain't gonna be just a face in the crowd, you're gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loooud ~ _ ."

"Oh my God," Kurapika emits spontaneously, plugging his ears.

" _ IT'S MY LIIIIFE, IT'S NOW OR NEVER ~ I AIN'T GONNA LIVE FOREVEEER ~ _ ".

The sparrows resting on the window ledge stand out immediately, scared. Five seconds later, Kurapika hears the double thud of a broomstick that beats the floor from the lower level.

“ _ I just want to live when I’m aliive ~ IT’S. MY. LIFE _ ”.

The rest of his repertoire is more or less analogous. Punk rock has always been his favourite genre, Blink-182, Green Day, Nirvana, Sum 41 and many other bands keep him company while he folds his clothes. Even the powerful and passionate voice of Freddie Mercury of Queen, the scratchy voice of Brian Johnson of AC/DC and the melodic one of Glenn Frey of the Eagles echo like he was at a live concert.

And all of a sudden, after that spinning of heavy sounds like the roaring of guitars and bass drums or some growls, a sweet, youthful voice hovers in the air. A new genre takes shape, sweeping away the hardness of the previous one with harmonious, welcoming colours; a classical guitar is the main instrument.

" _ I found a love for me _ "

" _ Darling just dive right in _ "

" _ And follow my lead _ "

Leorio stiffens as he puts one of the garments in his closet. He stops drumming his feet on the floor, he stops singing. He slowly turns his head towards the PC screen, with a look between amazed and interdict. He couldn't remember that Ed Sheeran's song was in his playlist.

Yeah, that song.

His ears begin to turn red from the sudden whirlwind of emotions that assail him. His heart pounds hard in his chest. Something buried for years, forcibly set aside, forcefully comes back to life; vivid memories, linked to that particular song he has learned to appreciate and make his own.

The atmosphere becomes bittersweet, but Leorio doesn’t change it; he wants to relive it a little.

"  _ ‘Cause we were just kids when we fell in love, not knowing what it was’ _ " he starts humming,"  _ ‘I will not give you up this time.’ _ "

"  _ ‘Darling just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own, and in your eyes you’re holding mine’  _ ", another voice rises. Kurapika joins him, suddenly, with his hands on his thighs, his gaze rapt, his eyes shining.

"  _ ‘I’m… dancing in the dark, with you between my arms’ _ " they sing in unison, "  _ ‘Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song; when you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath, but you heard it, darling you look perfect tonight’.  _ ”

Leorio manages to get into the mood for a couple of minutes; then, the knot formed in his throat begins to annoy him more than he expected.

He stops the music and closes the web page without logging out. He turns off the speakers. In his gaze there is now desolation, sadness. He sniffs and lets out a huge sigh. A curse comes out of his lips like a whisper. Kurapika remains motionless, helpless, with his face equally devastated as he watches his partner abandon what he was doing and leave the room.

7.30 pm. Leorio is already lying down. All the lights have been turned off, the blinds lowered, the curtains drawn to fill the entire room with placid darkness.

He couldn't wait to close his eyes and turn off his brain, full of  _ uncomfortable _ thoughts. After taking a hot bath and having dinner with two large teas and some biscuits, he didn’t hesitate to slip under the covers.

Kurapika feels his partner has started snoring a few minutes later; and it’s precisely when he enters the REM phase that the angel is called in for work, once again, like every night.

Taken a deep breath, he closes his eyes and concentrates, entering a state of mental connection similar to trance. He reaches it after several seconds in which he pronounces indecipherable words that can be traced back to some initiation ritual. His soul takes on a more rarefied consistency, almost becoming its original stage: an entity without any weight. His feet come off the ground, he begins to float. He crosses his legs and rests his relaxed arms, along with the palms of his hands, on the length of his thighs and knees.

His mind is already elsewhere, he is making a journey inside the dormant mind of his companion.

He finds himself in a luminous, ethereal cavern, where surfaces and borders are not perceived, except for what rises behind him: a sort of transparent but thick insurmountable sheet, beyond which there’s momentarily nothingness, just darkness.

Kurapika is positioned in an area where there’s a waving book - not to mention a boulder -, with golden bindings and scarlet reflections.

After a short period of time, a figure emerges from the horizon. He’s a pre-teen boy, dressed in denim overalls, knee-length shorts and a hat with a side visor. He has a slingshot in his hand.

He heads towards Kurapika, who sighs reluctantly.

_ "Come one, I have to start” _ he says to himself.

"Identify yourself", he then speaks to him, "Number, origin and reason for your presence".

“Memory number 73. I come from the limbic system, precisely from the frontal lobes. I was one of Leorio's first friends. We often stole each other’s tires and enjoyed throwing pine cones at the windows of the garbage collector's house. I want to play with him a little” he answers like a robot.

In response, Kurapika magically conjures a series of chains, that appear to be made of iron, in his right hand; one for each finger. He frees the ring finger, which opens the big book; the pages are browsed by themselves until they stop at one in particular that seems to contain all the details of the person and his photo. The chain remains immovable.

"It’s true," Kurapika says with a cynical gaze, "Redoing some mischiefs of the past shouldn’t be fatal to him. At the most, he may receive a few strokes of the belt from an adult, which could help him correct his temperament". He looks at the kid. "You shall pass; just know I'm keeping an eye on you, anyway."

That spirit goes beyond the transparent boundary, filling the environment with lights and colours of certain memories; he and Leorio, having returned as a child, venture into the neighbourhood with the aim of breaking some rules. The latter officially started dreaming.

Another figure comes forward shortly after. Or rather, a head; a woman's head with unclear features, floating in the ether until she reaches Kurapika, who remains impassive.

“Identify yourself.”

"Memory number 1249. I come from the occipital lobes. I am the face Leorio fleetingly saw one day as he went to work; we were both in our cars. My blue eyes got stuck in his mind. I want to appear to him again."

Kurapika’s chain is reactivated, and the pages of the book flow towards the interested identikit. No lie again. The angel allows her to pass.

Then, the image of a white van appears, seen from the front, as if ready to clash with him.

"Great, an inanimate object", he comments ironically, "Let's see."

The chain of his index finger is freed from the tangle, revealing a sort of syringe at the end, which goes to affect the features of that van, managing to penetrate its surface as if it were a strip of skin; it begins to suck its sap, and, in an instant, Kurapika's mind captures all kind of information; it includes the memory number, origin and type: repressive memory. It was generated by a horror movie Leorio saw long ago, in which a character dies smashed by a racing forge driven by a psychopath. The visual impact has been so strong that it threatens to recur in him.

"Chain of imprisonment", he doesn’t hesitate to evoke. It wraps itself around the dangerous image of the vehicle, cancelling in a few seconds its malignant aura, which goes into the chain itself.

"I put you in a state of Zetsu, which means you can no longer try to bother Leorio's sleep. At most, you can stage the part of a simple truck that he sees passing by far.”

The bad memory, which has become more rarefied, crosses the threshold of the dreamlike dimension, and Kurapika is ready to welcome the next suitor.

He gets a cell phone, which shows Leorio's phobia of losing his own. Kurapika decides to let him pass for a good laugh.

Sneakers appear to him, coming from the basal ganglia and the cerebellum; thanks to them, Leorio learnt to tie his shoes.

Liars manifest too: entities that claim to actually have a bogus provenance. And here comes the chain of the little finger, with a blade at the end. It’s not easy to place it inside those spirits; therefore, sometimes he must fight. If they have the best, Leorio's dreams turn into nightmares and a state of emergency would immediately start, which would force Kurapika to wake him up abruptly, risking psychic repercussions.

Once these spirits have been purified, Kurapika pushes them back into Leorio’s unconscious memory, in the field of memories’ distorsion.

No time to recover that he hears footsteps again. A new  _ customer _ .

He sees a human figure, young in appearance. They has a fair complexion, a slender build, a not so marked height. They has two large almond-shaped eyes, blond hair and feminine features.

Kurapika's breath breaks. He opens his eyes wide, he parts his lips in an alarmed expression. Before him there is nothing but  _ himself _ ; he wears a lilac robe that hides his probably naked body, since he is barefoot.

A memory that the angel recognizes very well. His heart beats frantically.

He can’t afford to falter. Not now. He squints his eyes; anguish and nervousness are pouring into him.

_ "Not again," _ he thinks, frowning. A part of him expected it. Dealing with himself has never been a simple thing.

"Identify yourself", is the rhetorical request he makes with a whisper of a voice.

"Memory number 8963," his double begins to speak, "I come from the amygdala, a region of long-term trauma. My name is Kurapika and I was..."

“Enough,” the angel immediately bursts out, raising a hand. He realizes he is shaking.

He doesn't need any other explanation. After all, who knows it better than himself?

He looks up at his double with an intimidating look.

"I thought I was clear," he says, "You mustn't set foot in Leorio's dreams."

"We both wouldn't want it, but  _ he _ 's the one calling me", the other one speaks with an impressive calm face.

"I'm sorry, but I have to send you back where you came from."

"You’d like him to see you again, wouldn’t you?" his double dares.

"Stay out of this," Kurapika hisses.

It’s not normal that a memory knows something of a psyche that is not Leorio’s; it must be a corrupt spirit. The angel thins his eyelids; he must act immediately.

Suddenly, a shocking event occurs. A strange energy floods the impassable wall that leads to Leorio's sleeping mind. In less than two seconds, that wall moves, spreading in the two of them’s direction; it encompasses them in the forbidden universe in which Kurapika can’t set foot.

They find themselves in a bedroom that they immediately recognize.

Panic prevails. Such a thing has never happened.

"It’s his doing," the double says, smiling, "He wants to see me so much."

"Shut up!". Kurapika grabs him by the edges of his robe. “You are nothing! You're just my surrogate!"

"Kurapika?" he hears from behind. A deep, hoarse, uncertain voice.

No.

It’s not possible.

His head turns slowly.

_ "I can't let Leorio see me, even in a dream" _

Leorio, standing in front of the two, next to the unmade bed, observes them with his mouth wide open, with fuzzy emotion in his shining eyes.

_ "Not just because we angels are forbidden to..." _

One's eyes rest on the other ones, awakening long-dormant emotions.

_ "... but also because..." _

Kurapika shakes his head slowly, panicked.

_ "... the memory of me would come back to haunt him." _


End file.
